thereby recovering

September 23, 2008 Candace Morris 6 Comments

the work room

i am increasingly uncomfortable with how the worry and necessity of the physical world seem to positively choke every other thought i may have had today.

all yesterday, i was working on tidbits of a poem.
all this morning, money fucking stole it.
i am now left with a notepad of fractured words and phrases that were, at one quiet moment, very magical.

spiraled thoughts swirl around
how did i let this happen?
how did god let this happen?
because i sure as hell need someone to blame.

i am battered and bruised by
mr. george washington's profile
on green paper

and now, despite the gracious resolution
and desperate prayers in the elevator
[despite convincing myself rather stoically that i no longer believe that the divine cares so much about the stupid details of life (because if so, why is my hair so flat - yes, i infallible logic is stunning)]
and feeling saved indeed by one of my most favorite, cherished, and unique relationships
the crisis is semi-averted.


but do i feel better? hardly.
i feel completely mangled, stabbed, embarrassed,
used (quite abominably)
utterly e.x.h.a.u.s.t.e.d.

not to mention the poetry is all gone.
and it is for this loss that i really do grieve most
most whole-heartedly.

for in my living
how could i have been so stupid,
i forgot to live.

stupid not because i was flippant with money,
but because i allowed the grapes of wrath
to steal and warp the bit of me that i happen to like.
la poésie
nothing can be worth that loss of soul.
(not when it was so recently recovered)

so today's aim is to retrieve it.
much like yesterday (which was quite a success, i might add).
to revisit the deflated scribbles
of poetry and prose i cast aside for bank statements and credit card balances
and give them life again

i will follow the example of a god i dare to trust
and breath bits of myself into fruition
only not from dust
but onto paper

thereby recovering.

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